


Where We Stand

by ApicalMeristematic



Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: Affectionate Banter, Angst, Crying During Sex, Emotional Sex, F/F, Implied Consent, Lots of it, Mildly Dubious Consent, Teasing, actual porn devolves into feelings porn, croix's a lesbian wreck, for the record there's no smut in the epilogue, now with an epilogue, pre-finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-05 00:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApicalMeristematic/pseuds/ApicalMeristematic
Summary: She had arrived expecting to posture for a bit, look entirely unbothered by the events of the day, throw another couple of jabs about how Chariot still wasn't any closer to stopping her “evil" plans than she had before and never would be.So, how on earth then had she ended up in this position, hovering inches above Chariot’s face as she pinned her down to the couch by her arm?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> gonna play it safe with the tags
> 
> this is probably the most self-indulgent thing I have, and ever will write and publish.

She was such an enigma, Chariot du Nord, one that time and time again, Croix failed to understand. For all their years spent together, as friends, as rivals, as enemies as they were now, no amount of analysis or careful scrutiny ever seemed to bring her closer to understanding why Chariot did, well, just about anything that she did.

She'd made it clear from the start that she was out to antagonize Chariot and her dearest student, taunted her at every turn that her interference would be futile in the greater scheme of Croix's grand ambitious plans. She saw the suspicion with which Chariot watched her every move, and she'd relished the attention she drew, the satisfaction of knowing so many things that her dear old _friend_ did not. Or, so at least she'd believed all this time. After all, for what other reason could it possibly be, that she would want Chariot's eyes to remain on her, and her alone?

But then Wagandea had happened, and it had shaken her beyond all her carefully cultivated expectations. In hindsight, it was absurd how she had never even taken into account the prospect that her scheming might legitimately put Chariot in danger, as blatantly obvious a consideration that ought to have been. Perhaps if she had prepared herself for that possibility, then she could have emotionally steeled herself for the sight of an unconscious falling Chariot, hair whipping violently in the wind as it faded from fiery red to the drab blue she kept it as nowadays, her figure suddenly so limp and… helpless, as she plummeted from Wagandea's branches. 

Except, why would she have even needed to steel herself, if she were so sure that she no longer cared even a bit for that woman’s well being? Surely it would have been an irrelevant matter, and yet her first instinct had still been to dive after her in blind panic, screaming Chariot’s name just as she had all those years ago, as if in those moments they were teenagers all over again and nothing had changed between them.

For the first time since her return to Luna Nova, her conviction had been shaken to the core. No, she _couldn't_ care about Chariot again, anymore, whatever! It made no sense, not after everything, not with how much she'd convinced herself otherwise, and not now when she was finally coming so close to achieving her lifelong goal that _hinged_ upon not being held back by unnecessary ethics, or heaven forbid, guilt.

Perhaps she had been a little bit… hasty, when she decided that the best course of action was to reaffirm her antagonism towards her former friend, remind herself exactly where they stood with each other and why they could never return to those simple, kinder times of a decade past. And so that evening, once she was certain Chariot would be alone in her office, she strode off through the halls to have a little chat with her colleague before she settled in for the night.

Only for it to go… entirely, not as expected.

It was true that perhaps Croix hadn't gone in with a solid plan of action on exactly what she wanted to do or say. That in itself was a testament to just how much Chariot could throw her off her stride, what with how prone she was to meticulously calculating all outcomes of a given scheme, no matter how small or inconsequential. She had arrived expecting to posture for a bit, look entirely unbothered by the events of the day, throw another couple of jabs about how Chariot still wasn't any closer to stopping her “evil" plans than she had before and never would be. 

So, how on earth then had she ended up in this position, hovering inches above Chariot’s face as she pinned her down to the couch by her arm?

Given the current rather compromising situation, she was having a hard time recalling. It was taking every ounce of her brain power to even remain functional as she was now, close enough to see every detail of Chariot’s...rather lovely face. There had been some sort of a smarmy, biting comment on the tip of her tongue, but for the life of her she couldn't remember what it was now. How could she possibly, when subject to such a sight as this?

Beneath her, Chariot met her eyes only briefly before they flickered away, suddenly looking rather abashed. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but ultimately no words left her mouth. Taking in every detail of the woman pinned underneath her, the nervous quiver of her gaze, the gleaming vibrance of her brilliant red eyes, the faded blue of her hair splayed messily against the couch, Croix felt her throat tighten and her thoughts fall into further disarray.

What was she _doing_? How had the her of approximately fifteen seconds ago thought this was in any way a good idea? What was this supposed to achieve? What kind of a point did this prove? And most importantly, why on earth had Chariot not already flipped her into the office wall, as Croix knew to be entirely within the realm of her physical ability?

Her mind in utter chaos, she tried to recall what her original goal had been with all this. Right, uh, to prove a point that there was no goodwill between them and that Chariot shouldn't expect anything from her based on the events of today. Something along those lines.

“Don't think that anything's changed. You still can't do anything to stop me.”

Yes, that seemed a suitable thing to say, even if her voice might have cracked a little mid-taunt. Perhaps she could just, play this off as a gesture of intimidation. A deliberate move to establish her unshakable confidence in the face of any potential resistance Chariot might muster against her. Resistance that, for reasons unknown, the woman pinned beneath her remained on mystifyingly short supply for.

In response, Chariot sighed, sounding equal parts resigned and exasperated. Not quite the reaction Croix had hoped for (although, what exactly was she hoping for to begin with?). Her once best friend still refused to meet her eyes.

“Yes, so you've told me several times already.”

There was something in that reply that inexplicably irritated her. Perhaps it was that, despite her best efforts, Chariot didn't seem to be particularly bothered by their proximity, and what was even the point if this wasn’t actually upsetting her? Frustrated, but determined to keep her cool, Croix opted to lower herself until she was inches away, where she knew the other woman could definitely feel her breath billowing against her neck, and felt faintly triumphant when Chariot noticeably stiffened beneath her.

“Well, then you ought to remember it.”

A slight pause.

“You’re making such a big deal out of this. Are you _trying_ to get yourself noticed?”

There it was again, that air of cool neutrality that spurred in her an irrational rumble of agitation. How could Chariot be so calm about this? After everything that happened today, why was she not… angrier?

A growl escaped her before she could stop herself. She tried to cover it up with another taunt.

“Are you even taking this seriously?”

Or, well, Croix had intended for a taunt, but that sounded a lot… not like one. Was the frustration getting to her? Was that Chariots intention? To goad her into losing her cool so that she could claim the upper hand in this verbal spar of passive aggression?

That didn't seem like Chariot at all, from what Croix had seen of her in both past and present, but then again, ten years was a lot of time for a person to change.

“What would you do if I didn't?”

Something snapped in her.

She wanted to attribute it to just frustration alone, her emotional control having already been thrown completely off kilter by the events at Wagandea a few hours back. But there was also the fact that she had spent the past minute or so staring directly at Chariot's exposed neck, and every second that passed strengthened an inexplicable temptation, a powerful one that grew rapidly, frighteningly, in the pits of her stomach .

And, in that second of weakness, her mental barriers shattered. In one smooth motion, as if she had intended to all along, her head dropped lower until there was no more space between them. Her mouth pressed against Chariot’s bare skin and she bit down, not hard enough to draw blood, but there would almost definitely be an incoming bruise.

She felt Chariot gasp more than she heard it, and wondered if satisfaction was what she ought to be feeling as her colleague briefly went rigid with shock. There was a mild sensation of squirming beneath her before Chariot inhaled sharply again, louder and more breathlessly, when Croix applied just the smallest increment of additional pressure.

To be frank, she'd never expected to get as far as she had. She was practically waiting for Chariot to push her off, furious and indignant, maybe a little horrified at the unspoken boundary of decency that Croix had so irreverently shattered. But, although the mild shifting beneath her continued, it didn't seem as if Chariot was really trying to fight her off at all.

The rational part of her mind found this increasingly bizarre, for not even Chariot ought to be this passive against, what was really a textbook case of assault. But something stopped her from acting on that confusion, from pulling away and re-evaluating just what she’d gotten herself into. Instead, an irresistible force beckoned her to continue, told her this was far from enough. Her reservations mysteriously vanished, Croix found herself helpless to heed that pull.

Reaching up with her free hand, the one that wasn't pinning Chariot's own against the couch, she found the zipper of the professor's tracksuit, yanking it down in one swift motion. With more of a surface to work with, she trailed a line of kisses from just beneath Chariot’s jaw all the way down to her collarbone. Croix noted the absence of any additional clothing beneath the tracksuit aside from a simple sports bra, leaving the entirety of her rather well-toned abdomen exposed.

All this time, Chariot's breathing had grown progressively heavier and higher in pitch, yet not a single word was uttered to protest her treatment. At some point her free hand had flown up to grip at her colleague’s sleeve, but otherwise she remained fairly still up until Croix bit down on her collarbone, at which point she once again tensed up, arching her spine with another audible intake of breath.

Spurred on by the continued lack of resistance, Croix drew her free hand up the side of Chariot’s exposed waist, noting the slight shiver that the contact induced. She reached the edge of Chariot's bra, hesitating for just a second before slipping her thumb underneath and easing it upwards.

There she paused, no longer sure of herself. Her face was still pressed into the crook of Chariot’s neck, not daring to actually look down past her shoulders. Her skin was pale, and smooth. She could envision it in her mind, what she would see if she allowed her gaze to wander just slightly lower, but something was still holding her back. Whatever remaining semblance of decency she had left perhaps? An open invitation for Chariot to stop her from going any further?

But really, if anything, it must have been cowardice that restrained her. In the face of such a situation, so full of uncertainty and unknown variables, her bravado had all but crumbled away. There were now factors in motion that she had never even considered when she’d so impulsively decided to confront Chariot in the privacy of her personal quarters. And maybe, just maybe, in the furthest reaches of her mind, there was always a small nagging sensation, an oft ignored acknowledgement of just how… attractive Chariot had become over these ten years, even when clad in the unflattering garb that was the standard issue professor uniform. But she had always paid the observation little heed, albeit perhaps with a bit more effort than she might have expected. Such a detail was irrelevant in the scope of her ambitions, after all. So maybe Chariot was as beautiful as she was so foolishly naive. That didn’t mean anything to her, did it?

Well. If the events of tonight were any indication, perhaps it really did. What a terrible lack of foresight it was.

Her hand drifted downwards, hesitant. Uncertain of herself, of the situation, of what it was she even trying to do at this point. Chariot was still clinging to her sleeve, and Croix could feel her trembling from where her fingers dug into the white fabric, but there was no move made to prevent her from reaching her destination.

She kept her touch gentle. She was almost afraid to do otherwise, on the mere chance she might hurt her, which in itself was quite perplexing. Croix hadn’t shied away before from causing the woman physical harm. The events from just earlier today were only the most recent proof of that. But there was something about this context, something so fragile and delicate that she couldn’t put a name or word to, but it kept her from touching Chariot with anything less than the utmost of care.

The woman in question was definitely… reacting, to the sensual movement of Croix’s hand against her breast. Her breaths had grown fleeting and rapid, interspersed with quiet, high pitched gasps that slowly began to increase in frequency. From where Croix had finally dared to raise her head to look, she could see Chariot’s face tilted to the side, almost buried into the couch, as if it might muffle the breathless sounds she could not help but utter. There was a deep flush across her cheeks and her eyes were closed shut, sparing Croix the terrifying prospect of having to actually meet her gaze as she felt her up.

She looked so vulnerable, and it causes a strange sensation to stir in Croix’s chest. It’s a feeling that was far more familiar to the her of ten years ago, when the woman moaning beneath her had been but a lively young girl, looking up at her with stars in her eyes and the brightest of smiles. Back when the sight of a terrified or despondent Chariot would have broken her heart, instilled in her a fierce desire to protect instead of a twisted sense of gratification.

For some reason, it’s as if time had turned itself back ten years. Croix feels her heart seize as she gazes downwards, as Chariot lay beneath her, gasping as if helpless against her advances, her entire body trembling with tense anticipation for Croix’s next move.

The brief spell of self-reflection was enough to stop her in her tracks, suddenly panicked at the boundaries she’d crossed and how this would irreversibly change her relationship with Chariot forever. God, what was she doing? Did she truly know if Chariot was okay with this? After all, she had basically forced herself upon her colleague, and even if she hadn’t been unceremoniously kicked off (yet), it wasn’t like she had ever asked to clarify the issue of consent. And maybe Croix had long accepted the moral dubiousness of many of her actions, that which she had committed in the past and would continue to commit come the future, all for the sake of claiming the destiny that had been unjustly denied of her, but something like this… 

No. Not even she would stoop to this, if it wasn’t what Chariot wanted. No matter what animosity she held towards the woman who was once her closest friend.

Croix pulled away slowly, a part of her still reluctant to do so, feeling shaken to her core. She loosened her grip on Chariot’s hand, the one she had been holding down up until this point. But to her great surprise, it flew up to catch her behind her neck, grasping tightly into her cape and pulling her back down.

“C-Croix…”

Oh, curse the Nine Olde Witches, what was it about Chariot’s voice that had such a profound effect on her? To hear her own name whimpered with such breathlessness, it all but crushed any shred of conviction she had mustered to stop herself.

Chariot wasn’t just passively tolerating the situation, was she now? She was the one who had pulled Croix back in when she was having second doubts. The intent behind such an act could not have been clearer. It wasn’t just permission for her to continue, it had become a request. Perhaps even a plea.

Chariot had opened her eyes again, and there was so much raw emotion pooled within them, Croix might well have been hypnotized by what she saw. It stilled her heart, pierced her through to the soul, if she ever had one or even believed in the concept to begin with.

At this point, Croix didn’t think she could deny her even if she had wanted to. 

Wordlessly (how could she have anything to say?), she lowered herself to Chariot’s chest, taking one of her nipples into her mouth, allowing her hand to continue teasing the other one. The other woman’s reaction was immediate, a shudder rippling through her body as she arched her back, and from her lips came a trembling moan louder than anything that had come before it. Her hands came up behind Croix’s neck, tugging tightly at her cape, fingers tangling into short lilac hair. Red had begun seeping back into Chariot's own, slowly spreading across the faded blue as she forfeited all control over the simple illusion charm.

In this vein, Croix continued, keenly aware of every sound that came from Chariot’s throat, every breathless utterance of her name that she repeated over and over, as if it were a mantra that would keep her here, keep her from ever leaving again. It was only now that Croix realized how fast her own heart was beating, her head thundering with the exhilarating buzz of adrenaline. She could barely even register what she was doing anymore, so fixated she was on her partner’s expressions, pausing in brief intervals to peel off the jacket portion of Chariot’s tracksuit, to pull her bra over her head so that there was nothing left to cover the upper half of her body.

It was only now, really, that Croix dared to finally look at what was on display to her, and she felt her breath die in her lungs. 

By the Nine Olde, Chariot was beautiful. How on earth had she ever been able to ignore that for the completely objective truth that it was?

As if caught in a spell, it was only when she felt the squirming beneath her that Croix realized she been staring, stupidly. Her once underclassman looked abashed, one eye peeking open to glance shyly upwards, evidently wanting for her to continue, yet too embarrassed to request it of her aloud. It was a look Croix had definitely seen from her when they were children, albeit in far more innocent contexts, and it was adorable enough that it almost single handedly overturned ten years worth of conviction on how much she supposedly despised her former best friend.

Feeling a light smirk coming on, Croix decided not to leave her hanging.

She reached down, further than she’d gone before, hooking her thumb into the waistline of Chariot’s track pants and sliding them slowly to her knees. Then she drew her hand upwards, deliberately lingering on her thighs, reveling in the tension she could see and feel beneath her fingertips. Chariot had gone still beneath her, in taut anticipation, her breaths hitched in her throat.

Croix waited for just a second more. It was Chariot’s final chance to stop her.

She did not. 

And so Croix took the plunge.

She found the waistline of the undergarment and slid her hand smoothly beneath, felt the bristle of hair against her palm as she reached deeper, until she found the entrance. It was warm, and unmistakably wet. More so than Croix had expected. She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth turning upwards with sly amusement. When Chariot saw the expression on her face, her own rapidly flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet than before.

“W-What?!”

Except, Chariot knew exactly the reason for the onset of Croix’s self-satisfied mirth, of which the both of them were completely aware. Croix couldn’t resist a low chuckle as her partner turned away, eyes darting in every direction that wasn’t towards her own face, her expression a flustered pout that was now beet red in colour. 

“D-Don’t _laugh_!” she stuttered, lightly shoving Croix’s face to emphasize her complaint. Croix meanwhile only laughed harder, her amusement further spurred by the ever-growing indignation on Chariot’s face as she struggled and failed to contain her embarrassment.

It took a few moments for her to compose herself, during which Chariot had pointedly looked away from her with a disgruntled huff. Croix wasn't too concerned about that; she knew just how she might make up for that blow to her partner’s dignity.

She had never removed her hand from where it rested between Chariot’s parted thighs. All she had to do now was dip down just a little farther, her finger lazily circling the slick entrance once, twice, before slipping in without any further warning.

The effect was instantaneous. A shuddering gasp rippled through Chariot’s entire body, the pout on her face quickly giving way as her eyes stretched wide open. For a moment they seemed suspended in time, Croix remaining utterly still with the length of her finger pushed as far as it would go. Then, slowly, with the utmost of care, she began to move.

“A-Ah! C… Croix…!”

The previously slackened hold on the back of her cape now grew vigorously tight, sharply dragging her down towards Chariot’s naked form. This was a fate she could readily accept, her eyes raking hungrily across every inch of bare skin exposed to her. She could see the sweat glistening on Chariot’s body as it shifted with every high-pitched moan, the firmness of her abdominal muscles as they tightened and relaxed in steady rhythm. Her hips rocked in time against the motion of Croix’s hand, legs spread wide, thrusting in slow, sensual strokes. 

In time, her breaths became even shorter, raising in volume and intensity, a telltale sign that Chariot was approaching her climax. And Croix was certainly willing to help her to her peak, but then she also couldn't help to note how little time it had taken for them to reach this point, and that was just a little bit… disappointing.

That was a particularly devious stroke of inspiration hit, and she couldn't keep the corners of her mouth from turning upwards. If Chariot had seen the look on her face, she very well might have sensed that she was up to something nefarious, but, evidently, the woman was too preoccupied with other matters to notice.

For a while, she continued as before, gently working her partner closer to orgasm, carefully cataloguing every sound she uttered, every motion she made, every sign that gave away how quickly her pleasure was mounting. It was as scientific an observation one could possibly make in the middle of something as intimate as intercourse, but Croix was a scientist as much as she was a witch after all. This was perhaps not the most ambitious or glamorous use of her observational skill, but well, if it paid off…

By her non-existent calculations, Chariot looked to be just seconds from the edge. And so, the faint smirk on her face now widening to stretch from ear to ear, Croix stopped moving just as her finger was buried as far as it could go, becoming dead still as she waited for Chariots inevitable reaction. 

She was not disappointed when seconds later, Chariot’s eyes flew wide open in bewilderment.

“W… why did… you…”

Then she caught the self-satisfied grin beaming down at her, and Croix had to resist the urge to snicker aloud at the indignant disbelief that swept into Chariots slack-jawed gape.

“You… don't you dare-” her voice cuts off into a high pitched squeak as Croix, without warning, began moving inside her again. The complaint dies on her tongue and her head tilted to the side, eyes squeezed shut, succumbing once more to the irresistible sensations spreading through her body from where fingers curled against the most sensitive spot in her slick inner walls.

It didn't take long for her to reach the point where Croix had so abruptly cut her off and she tensed in anticipation. She could feel her peak coming, felt herself just grazing the edges of that abyss, so close… so close to finally...

That is, until Croix stopped again.

Fully aware now of what her partner was up to, the sound that emitted from Chariot's throat could only be described as a frustrated whine.

“You're… the _worst_ ….”

A low chuckle rasped next to Chariot's ear, sending faint shivers across her skin.

“Only figured that out now?”

Croix sounded very pleased with herself, but while the smug amusement in her voice was certainly vexing, it lacked any of the genuine malice that Chariot had come to expect of their interactions. She was torn between wanting to hug the woman or to smack her.

Not that she had long to deliberate before Croix continued on with her fun, and this time Chariot managed a frustrated groan as she struggled to remain indignant, knowing how much amusement her old friend was deriving from her torment. She managed for a few seconds, desperately fighting to keep the displeasure in her expression, but Croix was never without a few tricks up her sleeves. Her resistance crumbled as her partner's free hand drew up to fondle her breast again, tweaking the nipple sharply between her fingers, and down below, Croix's thumb began to slowly rub along her swollen clit in time with her gentle thrusts.

As Chariot lost her internal fight, the one responsible for her suffering found herself utterly captivated, revelling in the sight of her once closest friend as she squirmed and cried out beneath the touch of her hands. It was intoxicating to watch, to know that she was responsible for teasing out such sights and sounds from the one person she was so certain she hated no less. It was an utter enigma as to why this was as invorigating as it was, and yet everything of the experience she took in hungrily, every noise and sensation a precious thing to be treasured. 

Chariot’s skin was soft under her hands. She smelled of parchment and candles, of perspiration, of something sweetly intimate and familiar. Inside and outside she radiated heat, and it was visible in the warm flush that was spread across her body, but remained most prominently pooled in her cheeks. 

So engrossed she was in all the wonderful sensations, Croix very nearly missed the moment at which she needed to stop. Consequently, she cut off more abruptly than she had originally intended, just barely before the point where Chariot would have finally reached the heights of her satisfaction.

This time, Chariot all but wailed her complaint, fingers pulling tightly at the the mess of Croix's once meticulously styled hair.

“Croix… _please_ ….”

Her throat caught, frozen as she was when she met Chariot's eyes. Her gaze, how it shook, frustration and exhaustion and desperation all at once to seize a hold of Croix's ice cold heart and crush it to splinters. There was that vulnerability once again, the quiver to her lips and the tremble in her stare that even now, after everything, still could bring her to her knees. 

Confronted with that old foe, it seemed as though relenting was her only viable option. Croix gave a small sigh, nodding briefly to reassure the desperately frustrated woman of her changed intentions, and found that she could not bring herself to look into Chariot’s eyes for any longer than a glance. The intensity of a plea that she saw brimming within! Surely, to look directly at the sun itself would have been an easier task.

When they approached the moment this time round, Croix felt her partner stiffen, wary that once again she would be denied the release that she so terribly craved. The small stirrings of guilt dispelled any temptation she had to yank the rug out from under Chariot a fourth time, as with one last thrust, she finally brought the tormented woman to orgasm.

To see Chariot climax was a thrill in it's own right, one that perhaps was even greater that what she experienced in the process of bringing her there. Briefly losing control of her terrifying strength, Chariot yanked her down so that their bodies were pressed right up against each other, burying her face into Croix's shoulder as she cried out uncontrollably in bliss. Her hips buckled as she came, pressing into Croix's hand as she continued to thrust, the additional stimulation contributing to maximize the heights of Chariot's pleasure.

But perhaps the most intoxicating thing about it all was how Chariot had returned to calling her name, practically whimpering it next to her ear as she lost all control over her voice. And even though it was muffled by her cape, the passion and affection in every breathless utterance came through with such clarity, Croix’s mind might as well as imploded in on itself for all it knew to make of the situation.

“Cro....ix …. O-Oh… Croix… _Croix_ ….”

She thinks this could last an eternity and still she would be content. There was something so fulfilling, so satisfying in seeing Chariot as she was now, open and exposed and clinging to her as if she were a lifeline to reality. Not hiding anything of her heart or her mind, not obscuring her wine red eyes behind tinted glasses or the fiery magnificence of her blazing hair under the illusion of dull blue. And it was as if all the anger and pain and bitterness in her heart, that which she had nurtured so carefully over the years, all of it had vanished in the moment as she listened to the sweet voice moaning into her shoulder, felt the quiver of Chariot’s naked body beneath her fingertips.

She felt… calm. At peace.

She hadn’t felt like this in years, not since…

A quiet noise interrupted her before she could muse any further. It gave her pause as she snapped back to the present, her hand stilling as Chariot steadily came down from her orgasm. She listened carefully, suddenly seized by doubt, for even if she hadn’t heard quite what it was, she could not help but sense that something… something was amiss now.

Then Chariot sobbed a second time, and for Croix it was as if the entire world had unravelled beneath her.

Sharply, she drew herself upwards, pulled her hand out from between still parted legs and stared in horror at the tears gathering in Chariot’s eyes. Panic took a hold of her, cold and fierce and devastatingly familiar after the fall at Wagandea, and she tried to deduce what it was that had gone wrong. Had her teasing been too much? Should she have been gentler? Had Chariot not wanted this after all?

“Ch-Chari… I-I… Are you…” Her words fumbled clumsily in her mouth, mind thrown into utter disarray. She couldn’t help but think of a time long ago, deep in the maze of a forbidden forest, standing amongst gnarled trees as a young girl bawled her eyes out a few meters away from her with an ancient wand clasped tightly in her hands. How she had cried back then, for Croix, because of Croix, wailed in despair over her guilt and regret and disbelief in her own worthiness. 

At the time, Croix had been desperate to comfort her in spite of the bitter thorns that were beginning to dig at her heart, and even now that desire, for whatever reason, remained unchanged. Somehow, in some way, she had hurt Chariot, and though a stubborn part of her mind tried desperately to convince her that it was the result she had desired anyway, overwhelmingly her first instinct was to distance herself so that she could do no more harm than what had already been inflicted.

But yet again, she had scarcely made the attempt to rise before Chariot seized the back of her cape, firmly restricting her from moving any further away. In this position, she could only watch helplessly as Chariot continued to weep, her entire form trembling with each sob as tears shook themselves free from her lashes. 

“I… I can leave…” Croix stuttered, her heart contorting painfully in her chest, unable to think of any comfort she could offer other than to remove her own presence. It was agonizing to watch and part of her was desperate to escape this situation, her thoughts in utter turmoil as she struggled to rationalize her own intense discomfort at the sight of Chariot’s distress. Her once closest friend, whom she had thought she wanted so badly to destroy, seemed barely able to muster the composure needed just to weakly shake her head in response. 

“No… Don’t…. _Please_ don’t…” Her arms wound tighter around Croix's neck as she spoke, choking intermittently on her own sobs as she pulled her down closer. 

“D-Did it hurt?” The frantic inquiry slipped before she could even think to stop herself. There was a pathetic break in her voice, a tremble that was blatant even to her own ears, and in that moment she hated herself for allowing such an open display of vulnerability. It was all wrong, she wasn’t supposed to _care_. That was the whole point she had tried to prove by coming here, was it not? 

She was shocked when Chariot's mouth curled upwards into a smile of all things, and a weak teary laugh escaped her lips. The effect was spellbinding, and she could only stare, frozen with bewilderment as one of the hands resting at the back of her head drifted down, untangling itself from her short tousled hair to gently cradle the side of her face.

“No… Of course not. Don’t look so worried…” Chariot seemed to have calmed down a little, no longer weeping openly as she gazed upwards at Croix with… with what could only be genuine, heartrending affection. A warm fondness in the shine of her eyes that may well have struck her heart through with the shaft of an arrow, leaving her unguarded and defenceless, helpless to remain the subject of Chariot’s open adoration. This only left her more hopelessly confused than she ever could have imagined, completely dumbstruck and offering no resistance when Chariot pulled her down closer, until not even air was left between their lips.

Croix would have expected a kiss under these circumstances to be wildly passionate, raw and desperate and full of need, but the gentleness with which Chariot met her stole the breath from her lungs. She felt her hands at the sides of her face and fingers slipping into the curls of her hair, firmly holding her close, yet never with enough strength so that she felt trapped or restricted. It was nothing like Croix had expected, but rather than worsen the chaotic disarray of her current mindscape, a calm had settled over the tumultuous storm of emotions. All thoughts of doubt and confusion temporarily vanished, and in their place, only a painfully simple desire to lean closer into Chariot’s hold and bask in the tender warmth of her affection.

“I’m not hurt… it’s just… I’ve missed you…” Chariot murmured when they finally broke apart. Their foreheads remained touching, and Croix could feel the tickle of air for every breath she drew. 

“I’ve been here for several months now,” she responded dryly. Chariot predictably rolled her eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

And well, of course Croix did, and it was deeply disconcerting. It brought back all her difficult thoughts, the tangle of conflicting desires, and she honest to god didn’t know what it was she wanted anymore. If she were being any bit rational, if this were two hours ago in the solitude of her lab, surrounded by the ambient hum of her technological marvels, the answer would have come to her effortlessly. But here and now, suddenly nothing was so clear cut to her anymore.

She didn’t have much time to dwell on that confusing mess of thoughts before Chariot pulled her in again for another kiss, and just like the last time, they were swept from her mind as all she could focus on was the softness of Chariot’s mouth as it was pressed tenderly against her own. It lasted longer this time, and it could have been an eternity for all Croix knew or cared, utterly captivated as she was by every inch of the woman she held so carefully in her arms.

A familiar shyness seemed to come over Chariot as they parted a second time. She looked away rather abashedly as she began to speak, her words stumbling with hesitation.

“Er… W-Would… Would you like to continue…?” 

Croix recognized the nervous darting of her eyes for the childhood habit that it was, a wistful nostalgia settling over her at the sight. Still, that didn’t stop her from raising an eyebrow, an amused grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. She really never could pass up an opportunity to gently tease her old childhood friend.

“Hm, I don’t know about me, but it seems someone here does.” She couldn’t help but laugh, openly and without mockery, as Chariot indignantly pulled at her cheek.

“Oh stop it,” she grumbled discontentedly, but Croix took note of the faint twinkle in her eyes as she complained. She held back the snicker the best she could though; push too hard, and Chariot may very well slap her at this point.

“You could just say what’s on your mind, you know.”

Chariot seemed to contemplate that for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. Croix blinked, not quite sure where this was going, until the hands resting at the base of her neck slipped away and instead began to fumble with the front of her outfit. Dumbly, Croix didn’t even begin to comprehend what she was doing until the weight on her back abruptly disappeared and her bare shoulders became exposed to the dim light of the scarred moon.

It was Chariot’s turn to smirk at her wide-eyed expression as her cape dropped to the wooden floor in a misshapen pile. 

“Well then, I think you’re overdressed,” she remarked simply, a coyness to her voice that Croix hadn’t heard from her up until now, since she’d first laid eyes upon her at Luna Nova after their separation ten years ago. It sent a shiver down her spine, and it definitely wasn’t only the newfound chill on her exposed skin responsible.

“Oh?” She tried to look unaffected by the implications of Chariot’s statement, but she doubted her own success in that endeavour. Whatever others might have thought, this woman was anything but an unobservant fool. “You look like you want to do something about that.”

“How could you tell?”

There was something in the playful sarcasm that Croix absolutely relished, unable to stop the smile on her face from widening as she leaned in closer. Their affectionate banter had its own quality of intimacy, different from what they had experienced earlier and were on their way to continuing, yet at the same time no less powerful. Another memory slipped into the forefront of her thoughts, of a clear night as they walked back to the dorms from their usual spot in the meadow. Chariot laughing with twigs in her hair and her tongue stuck out in playful jest, her younger self only making a shadow of an effort to scold her cheery friend for her recklessness.

In the present though, the delighted grin of the girl in her memories faded into the tender smile of the woman lying beneath her, albeit that had abruptly shifted to a grimace as she looked at Croix’s outfit.

“...I might need your help though,” she muttered, obviously not knowing where to even start with the bright red belts strapped across her partner’s body. 

“And if I withheld my assistance?” Croix questioned, teasingly, finding she could not help but enjoy the look of puzzlement and mild frustration in Chariot’s eyes as they scanned for a buckle, a zipper, anything that might give her some clue as to how her colleague’s ridiculous clothing could be removed.

“You wouldn’t, if you wanted to keep your outfit in one piece.”

Oh. Well.

To her credit, Croix only needed a second or two recover from _that_ implication. It wasn’t an empty threat either, at least in regards to the physical feasibility of it. She was all too aware of how much strength lay in those arms.

Chariot seemed to find her brief moment of shock amusing though, and her deadpan expression swiftly faded with a soft, affectionate laugh. She lifted her hand to rest at the side of Croix’s cheek once again, her thumb gently caressing the smooth skin beneath her eye.

“Well then?”

Croix found she could only grin hopelessly in response to that, the initial motive of her visit utterly forgotten as she raised a hand to loosen one of the straps adorning her shirt.

“If you so insist.”

* * *

Sometime during the night, Croix blearily opened her eyes. Her mind was still in somewhat of a haze, the remnants of oxytocin having yet to leave her system as her vision adjusted very slowly to the darkness of the room. 

She had somehow been pushed to the inside of the couch as Chariot lay partially on top of her, dozing peacefully into her collarbone. At some point, presumably after their impromptu romp, Croix vaguely recalled dragging her cape off the ground and covering the both of them with it shortly before they had fallen asleep. Right now, it had slipped partially off of Chariot’s bare shoulders, leaving them exposed to the pale moonlight. Croix stared at them briefly, still mentally sluggish, before unthinkingly reaching to pull the cape back upwards so that the other woman was properly covered. Chariot shifted slightly in her sleep, mumbling something under her breath before pressing herself right back into Croix’s breast.

For a few minutes she stared at Chariot’s face with minimal consciousness, absentmindedly gazing along the soft curve of her cheek and studied the faint quiver of her eyelashes as she dreamed. At some point, she drowsily registered a faint blob of grey in the background, blending into the shadows, and after peering into the darkness with some mild effort, she found herself gazing into the icy blue eyes of Chariot’s faithful old familiar.

Alcor’s stare was positively acidic, and later Croix would come realize that likely the only reason he hadn’t viciously pecked her eyeballs from her sockets that very instant was due to the fact that his mistress was currently still slumbering quietly in her arms. In the moment though, barely awake enough to keep her eyelids open as it was, the only response she could muster against the murderous venom in the ancient crow’s eyes was a tired shrug.

Idly, she wondered when he’d gotten here. He had definitely been absent when they had gone to sleep. Must have returned from his midnight flight sometime afterwards.

She yawned and shifted her position with some discomfort. The couch was not remotely large enough for two adult women, and Croix was not at an advantage with the few centimetres of additional height she had on Chariot. Still, the gentle heat of the bare skin pressed against her was soft and lulling, as were the arms curled lovingly around her back. In seconds she had fallen back to sleep, her nose pressed into tangled locks of messy red hair.

For a few more minutes, Alcor continued to glare, feathers bristling with visible vexation. Then, with a final huff of displeasure, he spread his wings and took back to the night sky, leaving his mistress and her unforeseen lover to doze peacefully in the intimate warmth of their afterglow.

* * *

In significant contrast to that brief, hazy period of consciousness, when Croix awoke in the morning, it was with a razor sharp awareness of what had transpired the previous night.

The sensual memories came to her in a swift, chaotic rush, the entirety of the night compressed into seconds, and with it, the cold, cold realization she had done precisely the opposite of what she’d originally set out to affirm.

Her thoughts were a wild, incomprehensible mess as she struggled to untangle herself from Chariot’s arms, finding it was not remotely an easy task. She practically tumbled to the ground upon succeeding and sat up, heartbeat thundering away in her ears as she looked at her colleague, praying desperately that the commotion had not woken her. Internally, she was in utter disarray, and she didn’t think she could handle having to face the woman she’d slept with and how she might react to the franticness with which Croix had detached herself from their embrace.

Thank the Nine Olde Witches then that Chariot only grunted quietly before curling in on herself, a meager attempt to fill in the void which Croix had left upon her frenzied disengagement. 

Spying the rumpled pile of her own clothing lying by the foot of the couch, Croix briskly set to dressing herself, fumbling with the straps and zippers as she rushed to make herself presentable enough to set foot outside the room so that she could escape back to the isolation of her lab as swiftly as possible. She felt numb, and her hands shook violently as she struggled to pull her shirt down over her body. She could see that one of the seams had torn a little; Chariot had gotten impatient near the end and all but ripped it off so that she could reach to unfasten her bra. The memory brought with it a conflicting jumble of emotions, and she could feel the bile rising to the back of her throat.

What was she thinking? What was she _thinking?_

She had come here to prove that she didn’t care, and even that simple task Chariot had somehow managed to distort. She’d taken the cruel motive and crushed it with her pleading eyes and soft voice and gentle touch and, it was wrong, it was all wrong-

Shakily, she stumbled to her feet, feeling weak and exhausted and cold now that, now that Chariot wasn’t holding her-

No. She couldn’t. She had to stop. 

Her attire was all in place now, if somewhat sloppily assembled, with wrinkles and imperfections that she otherwise would have never allowed before setting foot outside her door. All that was left was the cape, which was still draped across Chariot’s peacefully slumbering form, utterly oblivious to the furious turmoil that raged in the depths of her torn, embittered heart.

Reaching out to take a hold of the bright red fabric, Croix could not help but think that without it, Chariot would be freezing. She knew intimately well that beneath the cape, the woman was entirely clothless and completely exposed. She decided that this wasn’t something she was supposed to care about in the first place as she seized one of its corners, determined to set her heart in stone, determined to do just one thing right that she had set out to accomplish when she made her grievous error the previous evening.

But then her gaze fell upon Chariot’s face, and it was just one more mistake added on the towering existent pile. She couldn’t even begin to rationalize how this had spiralled out of control so terribly, but if there was one realization that had sorted its way to the forefront of the chaotic emotional flurry, it was that everything that occured last night had occurred… because Chariot had allowed it. 

Chariot had looked at her with such… such adoration, such undisguised, unequivocal infatuation. That was not how _anyone_ would look upon someone they would lay with only for the physical pleasure. No, something so heartfelt, it could only mean… it could _only_ mean…

Briefly, she forgot how to breathe, her hand frozen where it was still closed around the edge of her cape. Her eyes were fixed upon Chariot, on barely parted lips which had kissed her so fondly, on closed eyes that had just hours ago looked upon her as if, as if she were the only thing in the entire world that was important…

She had drawn the cape up higher and tucked it around Chariot’s shoulders without registering even a second of what she was doing. Her mind was blank and her heart equally so, numb to all feeling, as she watched Chariot’s mouth curl into a tiny smile, still so agonizingly unaware to the waking world.

Her heart in her throat, Croix found herself releasing her cape, letting it settle soundlessly against the unconscious professor. There was a pressure in her eyes, a terrible agony that tugged in her chest.

Without a word, she turned her back and strode out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been over ten years since they’d first started their fateful quest, stood before the Grand Triskelion deep in the woods of Arcturus. So young, so convinced that the faith they had in each other was unshakeable. Eternal. So unaware of the conflicts that would bloom from the seeds of bitterness sown that day, so, so long ago.

And yet here they were in the same place where they’d started, two exhausted grown women in the place of a pair of bright eyed, hopeful children. Older, battered, broken from their decade-long separation, in similar and in different ways. Having resoundingly failed to bring their dreams to reality with their own hands, their only option was to pass on the torch to the next generation, to the two young girls who mirrored their teenage selves so closely, and yet had made none of the same devastating errors.

And where they had fallen apart, Diana and Akko succeeded. The magic pouring from the earth, the branches of Yggdrasil spreading across the sky, it was the proof of their endurance against the odds to which their predecessors had crumbled.

It stung a little, perhaps. Chariot will concede to that. There is always disappointment in the knowledge that she and Croix had all the tools to succeed as these children did, only to have fallen so spectacularly short of all expectations. But overwhelmingly, there is immense pride in her students, and extensive relief for their safety. It was an enormous burden lifted from her shoulders, to know that her own failure hadn’t been the end of all hope. 

She dared to glance over to where Croix stood next to her. There’s a calm, unguarded smile upon her colleague’s face as she gazes upwards into the heavens, at the proof that it was all real. Her expression is absent of bitterness or arrogance, of the sneering condescension that she has come to expect of the woman who was once her dearest friend.

She looked at peace. And Chariot hasn’t seen her like this ever since… well...

Her mouth went dry at the memory of a very… particular night. Croix notices her staring, and in an instant the air between them grows tense once again.

There is no hostility, not anymore. But there are also no magitek dragons or possessed warheads now to demand their attention, no more students to aid. There was only the two of them on the balcony of Woodward’s tree, alone.

And, there is the memory of what occurred between them. 

The silence is awkward. There’s no doubt that the same particular event is on both their minds, but where to even begin? So much had happened before and after, and without question, something fundamental had changed between them that night, but what words could define it? Did such words even exist?

It felt impossible to speak, and Chariot’s first instinct was to seek an escape from the situation. But there weren’t a lot of venues for that as they were now, with no distractions to divert their focus, and besides, she’s run away from too much for too long. She had always been so afraid of confrontation, but after the mistakes she’d made with Akko and with her dear friend in the past, perhaps it was about time she learned her lesson.

But although she struggled to gather her words, it ended up being Croix who spoke first.

“You were right.”

Chariot blinked, expressing confusion with a slight tilt of her head.

“...About?”

To that, Croix shrugged her shoulders. They are noticeably bare in the absence of her cape, but Chariot does her best not to dwell on that in the moment.

“More things than me.” Croix gazes downward and away from her. “About the worth of belief, I guess.”

Chariot finds herself wishing that Croix would stop trying to avoid her eyes. In spite of everything, she finds the condition of her oldest friend to be a heartrending sight. Still, after a moment of thought, she cannot help but smile at the memory that comes to mind.

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who first taught me that.”

To that, Croix responded with a tired sigh.

“And yet I was the one who forgot. Fat lot of good that counts for.”

Chariot winced at the self-directed resentment in her dear friend’s voice. She wanted to reach out to her, to tell her she should never feel so terribly about herself, but that would be a touch hypocritical, wouldn’t it?

“Croix…”

Her voice dwindled off, wishing she had the adequate words to express what she felt and finding it to be a monumentally difficult challenge. It was so terribly complicated, for after all, it seemed as though they had been subject to the cruelest joke in history. How could she ever begin to convey the extent of what she’d felt all this time, the intangible whirlwind of regret and loneliness and anger, undercut with a never complete absence of deeply felt longing?

But still it would be Croix to break the silence again, and really, that was hardly a surprise. In the end, Croix was always the bolder one, stubbornly resentful of uncertainty; more willing to set foot into unknown territory, to push at boundaries and unspoken barriers. 

Croix would hold back for no one, not for Chariot, not for herself. There served no greater reminder for that attribute than the words she spoke next:

“Do you hate me?”

What a cruel question it was to ask, for no one more so than herself, yet Chariot was the one sent reeling by that immensely weighted inquiry. It was remarkable, how Croix didn’t so much as flinch as she spoke. She cast her gaze downwards still, her tangled mess of hair covering one of her eyes. There was a heavy sense of resignation in the way she stood, with none of the pride and confidence and straight-backed posture that she had come to be known by for the past several months. It was a question of her own choosing that stilled the air, and yet, it seemed as if Croix believed she already knew the answer.

Chariot closed her eyes, for that realization truly devastated her. Really, even after everything they’d gone through in the past hour, Croix honestly could still think such a thing?

“No, I don’t.” She tried to respond firmly, even as her voice trembled with poorly contained emotion. “You really believe that?”

To that, Croix gave a weak, incredulous laugh, roughly and without a trace of humour. 

“Are you serious? More like, how could I not?” She ran a hand carelessly through her dishevelled lilac hair, absentmindedly shaking free a few specks of dirt. “In every way I possibly could have hurt you, I did. What… What sane person wouldn’t hate me after all that?”

Chariot crossed her arms, pouting at her companion just slightly with a mildly accusatory stare.

“You’re saying I’m not sane then.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I just…” Croix gave another hefty sigh. She looked not so much incredulous now as she did just utterly exhausted. “I don’t understand you. I guess I never did.”

“Croix, people aren’t books to be studied. You invest too much of yourself into the objective realm.” Her voice, even while chastising, still managed to remain gentle. Without thinking, she reached up to brush off some of the dirt that had been displaced onto her colleague’s shoulder. Her skin tingled where it met Croix’s own, and like a stroke of lightning, it brought back to mind the night of intimacy they shared against all odds, against all reason. The memory was raw and its edges sharp, and Chariot instinctively drew her hand back with a wince as if zapped.

Croix watched her quietly, seemingly unaffected by her sudden withdrawal. She looked too worn to be hurt by the gesture and what it implied.

“Of all the ways to hurt you, that… that night was…” Her voice wavered with an audible tremor, tripping over words ungracefully as she pointedly looked away. Chariot went completely still, at a loss herself for how to respond, not having expected for Croix to bring up the elephant in the room so directly and without warning whatsoever. She could not resist the hint of colour that rose to her cheeks, and ducked her head in a feeble, most likely unsuccessful attempt to hide her bashful expression.

If Croix did notice, which, she almost undoubtedly did, she didn’t comment, sparing only a glance in her direction before staring straight back into the balcony floor. Her eyes teemed with dull sorrow, and there was a certain fragility to the way she held herself, as if she would fall to pieces if she were so much as nudged.

“I’m… sorry… F-For everything, really, but… that was… that was particularly despicable of me…” She mumbled rather quickly now, and Chariot barely caught the words as they stumbled from her lips. “N-Not that an apology would… would mean much… Not that anything I say now does but… I… I didn’t… it wasn’t my intention to do… any of that… that night… ugh… that doesn’t sound any better….”

“Croix?” Chariot felt prompted to interrupt her colleague’s semi-coherent ramble, somewhat confused by the half-mumbled apology and finding it difficult to discern just what her old friend was stammering about. 

“I… I overstepped my boundaries… by a lot…” Croix seemed to make an effort to speak clearer, if only a feeble one. She still refused to look Chariot in the eye, but her anguished expression said everything of what she truly felt. “I didn’t… I never asked if it was okay…”

Oh. So that’s what it was all about.

Chariot let go of a breath she’d been holding as that revelation sank in. This was clearly a matter that had been weighing on Croix for some time, but for someone of such remarkably gifted intelligence, she’d really missed the point on what had actually caused her so much grief about that incident.

And that, Chariot was not willing to make a secret of.

“The only thing you did to hurt me that time,” she closed her eyes, and her voice quivered, “was when you left the next morning without even a word.”

“...Oh.”

Croix’s voice sounded very small, as if that wasn’t something she had been expecting to hear. Her friend shuffled her feet awkwardly next to her, seeming unwilling to articulate a response to that. Silent, as if she could avoid the issue so long as she never formulated an answer.

But Chariot wasn’t willing to drop the matter so easily, even though she could clearly see that Croix was uncomfortable with discussing the topic any further. Not even she was so kind.

“Why did you leave?” 

Her voice caught in the middle of the whispered question. Just those words alone triggered an unbearable ache in her chest from the inevitable memory that they summoned. Of the sensation of excruciating cold as she slowly opened her eyes, frowning blearily as she sought after the warmth she distinctly remembered falling asleep next to, only to realize with chilling clarity that she was alone in her office. She’d stared numbly at the cape that was left behind to cover her, the sole reminder that the events of the night prior had actually occurred, before tearing her gaze away to fix it instead upon the closed door. She remembered hoping, desperately, that maybe Croix had only left temporarily for a cup of coffee or to satisfy her unhealthy addiction for cup ramen, but the door remained unopened, and the woman she loved absent.

She remembered crying afterwards, feeling as though she were being viscerally torn open from the inside out, feeling cold and abandoned, left behind to question the sincerity of everything that had happened between them hours before. How long she’d spent bawling into the cape she didn’t know, only that eventually Alcor had cawed to alert her that she was going to be late for her first lesson. So, she’d pulled herself together the best she could and stumbled hastily to the classroom (unfortunately late anyways), and did her best to avoid Croix in the hallways up until their confrontation had been inevitable.

And now, the woman responsible for all her grief was standing right next her, practically wilting at the blatant hurt in her voice, the question she was faced with piercing and ruthless. Croix finally looked at her, if only for a brief glance before she closed her eyes, guilt etched into every feature of her pained expression. 

“I… I-I couldn’t stay…” She stuttered, finally. “I… I couldn’t because… because to stay would mean that I… that I was still in lo…”

Croix all but choked on the end of her sentence, snapping her mouth shut and turning sharply away. It’s quite likely the closest she’d ever get to a confession, Chariot realized, not that it stopped her from barely holding back a gasp, tears rising to her eyes as her heart _twisted_.

“And?” Her own voice sounds distant and muted. “Was that such a terrible thing?”

A weighted pause.

“I… I already had everything planned out,” came the awkwardly mumbled response. “All those years of research… I couldn’t… Not just because of…”

“You couldn’t give up your plans just for your _feelings_ , could you?” This time, Chariot couldn’t keep out the trace of bitterness that slipped into her voice, although she promptly regretted it when she saw the woman flinch in her peripheral vision.

“T-That’s… I… ugh…” Croix looked truly dejected as she sighed, absentmindedly attempting to brush the mess of hair from her eyes a second time, to little success. “Well… I’ve made just about every wrong decision already… might as well add that onto the pile too…”

The Modern Magics professor looked despondent as her gaze drifted upwards, back to the sky where Yggdrasil hung proudly over their heads. There was none of the peaceful contentment from before, when she had last looked upon the streams of magic as they hurtled their way across the globe. 

“I haven’t don’t anything right, have I?” She mumbled, desolately. “Not a single thing. I’ve wasted every single moment of the past ten years-”

“Stop.”

Chariot promptly cut her off, and this time doesn’t stop herself from reaching out to lightly touch the side of the woman’s cheek. Croix started at the contact and stared wide-eyed as Chariot angled her head, forced to directly face her at last.

“Don’t say that,” she murmured, never taking her eyes away for a second from Croix’s own. Maybe someone else in her shoes might have been gleeful, but Chariot was not, and could not ever be that person. In the end, no matter how much she was hurt through Croix’s actions, she would never stand to listen idly while her oldest friend ruthlessly diminished the value of her own self-worth.

“I don’t think I’ve said anything untrue,” her colleague weakly retorted, tensing when Chariot reached up to gently brush aside some of her unrulier strands of hair.

“Croix, you’re smart, and you work so hard. I’ve always admired you for that. I can hardly advocate for most of your decisions, but you did what you thought needed to be done.” Her hand drifted back down to the side of Croix’s face, gently resting against her cheek. “You went too far. But I know you didn’t want this to happen.”

Her dear friend looked torn, unable to decide if she wanted to lean closer into her touch or to pull away. 

“Does it matter?” she muttered, temporarily giving up on that dilemma as she settled for staying just as she was. “All of this is still my fault.”

“No.” Chariot’s voice was firm, unwelcoming of further debate. “This all started years ago when we fell apart. What happened between us was never your responsibility alone.”

In spite of her tone, Croix still made a weak effort to refute her. “But I… It was mainly me who-”

“Croix.”

“O-Okay… Got it…”

Her friend’s expression was suddenly a sullen one, a change so abrupt that Chariot, caught off guard, couldn’t help but chuckle briefly at her expense. Croix, meanwhile, looked absolutely bewildered.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, perplexed.

“No, nothing.” Chariot found herself gazing up into puzzled green eyes, a familiar surge of affection pulsing in her heart as she gently pressed their foreheads together. It was peaceful moment between them for all of a few brief seconds before Croix hurriedly broke away.

“You shouldn’t.” She muttered miserably.

“...And why is that?” Chariot challenged, struggling to refrain from looking visibly hurt by the other woman’s withdrawal.

“I don’t… deserve it. Not from you.” A tired, quivering release of breath. “Especially not from you.”

Well, if there was one thing that Croix truly excelled at, it was breaking her heart, apparently even in the absence of conscious intent. That Croix could ever think that she wasn’t good enough for her to love felt all sorts of wrong, and it was agonizing enough to process that Chariot had to take a moment just to steady herself through the sharp pang resounding in her chest. Determined to prove otherwise and unwilling to back down, she stepped forward to close the distance between them, resting her head against the crook of Croix’s neck and taking a hold of her hand.

“I think,” she whispered, just loud enough for one person in the world to hear, “that should be for me to decide.”

She felt Croix stiffen, felt her heave a choking sob as slender fingers tightened unsteadily around her own.

“Then your decisions are absolutely abysmal.” Her dearest friend, the woman she loved, had always loved, ran a sleeve across her eyes in a feeble attempt to erase evidence of her tears. Chariot pulled away so that she could properly gaze at her, with the fondest smile that beamed of unshakeable devotion.

“Well, if this one is, I don't regret it. I'd like it if you kept it that way.” She laughed, a little wryly, when Croix took a brief moment to huff an incredulous scoff in the midst of her tears. Unwilling to wait a second longer, Chariot reached up to hook her arms around the back of the other woman’s neck and tugged her down to kiss her soundly.

And Croix did not pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well i didn't want to leave this fic on such a downer so here's the epilogue after all

**Author's Note:**

> i had a simple concept going into this fic (read: it was just supposed to be plotless smut) but my simple ideas never stay simple and boy did it get away from me. 
> 
> I miiight write an epilogue later, to resolve some complicated feelings, jury's out for the moment.
> 
> also, if anyone here happens to be curious about the status of Extending an Olive Branch, i swear i haven't forgotten about it, it's just that i tend to write several things at once and sometimes hyperfixate on a certain project (like this one lol). so, uh, for now in its place, i can only offer u this porn sorry (；・∀・)


End file.
